fire.

Something amazing happened the other night.  I cannot believe that I forgot to tell you yesterday, except for the fact that I was so sleepy that I'm surprised I didn't flip Hedwig the Honda on the interstate.  So, I was sitting at the kitchen table at the Fortunato's late on Wednesday night.  Just before the kids are going to go off to brush their teeth and get tucked in for the night, Mrs. Fortunato decides that she deserves a little snack.  So what does she do?  She does what millions of Swedes do every single day.  She takes a couple of pieces of really hard bread and sticks them in the toaster.  Promptly after doing this, she scampers upstairs to tuck in the smallest of the adopted Indians.  All the while, I'm just pounding away at the keys, saying all of these kind words about the literary style and genius of the Romantic poet John Keats.  All of a sudden, I get a whiff of what might be smoke.  I look and up and behold:  The toaster is a ball of fire!  The whole thing has gone up like a match and is now burning like a pile of leaves in Autumn, like a chestnut roasting on an open fire.  I make a swift move and grab the whole thing with my hands but oh, it is quite warm.  I manage to launch it out the front door and then stomp on it in the grass, in the even April air, until the flat bread is fully consumed.  I come back into the house and Mrs. Fortunato asks "What happened?" as our eyes water and we cough because the entire place is filled with smoke.  So that might lead to a decent explanation of why it took me an extra day to feel better: because I typed my paper that night in an atmosphere that had the feel and texture of the Clermont Lounge.

I was telling Tim Crabtree this story last night and he brought up the interesting correlation of having had two distinct experiences this week: one with water, and one with flames.  That led me to say to Timothy: "Oh yes, Tim.  I've seen fire and I've seen rain."

Tatum.